


Jump Into the Fog

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Tumblr, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, BDSM, Dean Winchester is not a cockblock, Enthusiastic Consent, Humor, M/M, Romance, S&M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a college student, and he's following a lot of porn blogs. Crowley is a Tumblr famous Dom. After an unexpected followback, they get to talking about Sherlock, and come to an agreement that helps them both get away from the pressures of their lives. As time passes, they grow close. </p><p>They have no idea how close they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supernatural days (kipland)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kipland/gifts).



> Based on the prompt by Tumblr user heavensgriefx (used for Castiel's URL with permission):
> 
> "i just want an au in which castiel is an awkward little tumblr user who really likes sherlock or some other fandom and he gets fergus crowley as a follower one day and crowley’s got loads of followers so cas is all shy when it comes to approaching him but he sends him an ask anyway because why not and they kind of hit it off  
> [Abridged for spoilers]  
> i’m sorry this is just a thing i want okay."  
> And so you shall have it.  
>  ****  
> Now with[soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpdUfmRv8UmONSwLcj8_rBdcJIlwruWcw), as Castiel would play while sending those messages. Hope you like 00's pop/punk.

**[youdontknowtorture](http://youdontknowtorture.tumblr.com) is now following you.**

Castiel Novak is having a bit of difficulty coming to terms with this notification. Not that he has a new follower- he’s pushing three hundred now- but who this follower is: a popular BDSM blog. Castiel runs a multifandom personal. This begs the question: Why is a BDSM blog following him?

He checks back through the archive, and okay, so he reblogged a lot of kinky porn last night, sue him. It takes up three, or four, or five pages... Well, that’s making a little more sense.

Poor guy doesn’t know what he’s in for.

He completely forgets about the whole _Famous porn blog following me, nbd_ thing until about three months later.

**Youdontknowtorture** is still following him. He cocks his head and narrows his eyes at the screen. _Why hasn’t he unfollowed yet?_

He’s probably following a bunch of blogs- there’s a fuckton of kinky porn on Tumblr (not like Castiel would know...) and his posts never even come up on the guy’s dash. Cas gets what that’s like ( **Following 3,614 people and counting** ). Normally, he wouldn’t interfere, but... Sherlock season 3 is happening in less than a week... and the guy doesn’t seem like a total wad (unlike most Tumblr doms).

What harm is it to shoot the guy a fanmail in warning?

 

**Thank  you for following, but I am not a porn blog. Sorry. Unfollow now, before Sherlock’s back on season.**

**-heavensgriefx**

So that’s the end of that and he goes about his blogging.

Until that beautiful little red box appears over the inbox icon. He does not _slam_ the button to check _Oh God finally one of my followers wants to talk to me anything but anon hate literally anything-_

His eyes catch first on the icon: turquoise background, black suit, red carnation, _ridiculously attractive jawline_. One glance at the URL tagged on the end of the fanmail confirms his suspicions.

**So I noticed. How do you think Sherlock survived the Fall?**

**-youdontknowtorture**

He stares for no less than a solid minute before he drafts a 400-word theory he’s been clinging to for three years, and doesn’t have time to regret driving the guy off until after it’s sent.

The response comes less than ten reblogs later.

**I suppose I could get behind the cushion theory, but a hypnotist?**

**-youdontknowtorture**

 

**It’s a work in progress!**

He hovers over the send button for a few seconds. That is a conversation-ending response. He should seamlessly change the subject to another conversation topic that would keep Crowley (Castiel knows as his name from his About, which he is now skimming) interested...

**Do you ship Johnlock?**

**-heavensgriefx**

... Fuck it, close enough. Castiel leaves his inbox open in a separate tab, and refreshes only every _thirty_ seconds, thank you very much.

**I don’t really ship; bit too busy with my own sexcapades to fantasize on fictional characters’. One thing I can say for sure is that I violently despise Mythea, so if you ship it, tag it.**

**-youdontknowtorture**

_Mythea._ The mere ship name nearly brings a scowl to Castiel’s face. _It’s so completely out of character and fanservice-y and it gets thrown in half the Mystrade fics I can get my hands on. **Mythea.**_

Oh, Castiel is going to like this guy, because if shared OTPs are the fastest way into his heart, NOTPs are the fastest way into his pants.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to spread these out a little more, but in light of what's going on today, I wanted to put some happy things into the fandom. Dusty loves you.

**youdontknowtorture answered you:**

> **heavensgriefx asked:**
> 
> **ARE YOU WATCHING THE PREMIERE TONIGHT?**

**How could I not?**

**youdontknowtorture answered you:**  

> **heavensgriefx asked:**
> 
> **SECOND QUESTION: DO YOU HAVE A SKYPE BECAUSE I NEED TO DISCUSS THESE FEELINGS.**

**Are you going to be using capslock the entire time?**

**youdontknowtorture answered you:**

> **heavensgriefx asked:**
> 
> **PROBABLY. A SITUATION OF THIS MAGNITUDE REQUIRES EQUAL GRAVITY OF TEXT.**

**I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.**

 

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> HE SAID “NOT DEAD."
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> That’s how it happened in the novels, you know.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> REALLY?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> People rioted in the streets, so Sir Doyle had to write a retraction of Sherlock’s death. Sherlock shows up in a bar and brushes it off.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Wow.
> 
> I like Mary a lot more than I thought I would.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> That seems to be the consensus.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> SO MUCH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.
> 
> ESPECIALLY WATSON.
> 
> THOUGH I MAY BE BIASED TO WATSON,
> 
> BECAUSE I ROLEPLAY WATSON.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> I can see it. You have a bit of a John vibe.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> JOHN WATSON IS MY SPIRIT ANIMAL.
> 
> SHERLOCK STILL DIDN’T EXPLAIN HOW HE DID IT.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> He never did in the novels.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> HE BETTER
> 
> I WILL EVISCERATE MOFFAT SCROTUM-FIRST
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Careful kitten, you’re turning me on.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> KINKY BASTARD!
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Closet submissive.

Castiel types out a reply along the lines of “I AM NOT A CLOSET SUBMISSIVE” before he backspaces it completely, because there as a reason he was reblogging all that S&M porn a month ago, and it wasn’t because he wants to tie someone up and make them beg... He scrapes his lower lip with his teeth.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> You’ve got me there.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> See? I know these things.

Castiel chews on his lip more. It occurs to him that he is talking to some guy he met on the internet, and knows absolutely nothing about. He could be a fifty-year-old pervert. What is Castiel doing with his life?

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> Don’t pass out on me, love. It’s only 12:30 and I have work to finish.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Oh right, we’re in the same time zone.
> 
> I’m not falling asleep, just daydreaming.
> 
> I’m not sleeping tonight.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Good. I’ll be up far too late reading this contract.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> What contract?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Corporate buyout.
> 
> I’m a lawyer, darling.

He’s definitely old.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Oh. Alright.
> 
> Am I distracting you?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Darling, I need a distraction or I’m going to throw my tablet across the room.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I see.
> 
> Then, how should I distract you?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Don’t say that. Far too much open innuendo.

Castiel is glad this isn’t a video call because his face is heating up. His fingers hover over the keyboard. He’s not sure how to respond. He’s not sure how he wants to respond. It’s blithe flirting; Crowley does that a lot. He’s not serious in the slightest. Still, the he’s not accustomed to being flirted with. It’s kind of... nice.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> Unless, of course, that’s what you’re looking for...

Castiel’s trachea feels tight all of the sudden. On one hand, he’s only an eighteen-year- old virgin trying to pull his life together, and he really shouldn’t be flirting with strange men... On the other hand, he’s a college freshman of consenting age who’s been meaning to learn a thing or two about sex before he gets in a relationship that goes there.

Well, what an opportunity this is.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I...
> 
> It might be.

This is completely because he’s a smart kid with a thirst for knowledge. It has nothing to do with how attractive D/s is to him, how all of his anxieties and depression would melt if there was someone to hold onto, to tell him what to do, to take all those responsibilities... He has a tendency to be overly dramatic. He hopes it’s just hormones.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> Are you submitting to me, darling?

Castiel flexes his hand, and bites his lip. _Last chance._

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Yes.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Wonderful.
> 
> First things first...
> 
> I have a form for you to fill out.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shortening all the chapters, in order to update more frequently. No content will be lost; it'll just be one scene to a chapter instead of two. The next upload is leftover from moving things around, but the one after that is new.

“Hey, Cass. What’s up?” Castiel’s roommate says as he walks in, heading straight for the fridge.

The blogger stares at his laptop where it sits on the bed in front of him. “What’s rimming?”

Dean pulls himself out of the appliance and blanches at the other man. “What?”

“Rimming. Google isn’t producing any helpful results.”

“Yeah, that’s because you have safesearch on. Rimming’s like...” he scratches the short hairs on the back of his neck a bit more violently than necessary, “mouth-to-butt sex.”

Castiel blinks at him and narrows his eyes. “Is it pleasurable?”

“That’s, uh, kinda the point?” He snaps up into a defensive stance, despite his concerned tone. “Where’d you hear this?”

“Crowley sent me a form to fill out. I suppose I should at least try it, wouldn’t you agree?” he asks, turning back to the form.

“I-I guess?” he responds, sitting on his own bed. “Isn’t that that porn blog guy?”

“Yes, Dean. He is going to train me in submission. Have you ever been involved in Bondage and Discipline, Domination and Submission, or Sadomasochism?”

“I, uh, no- I mean, I went to this weird party once, and somebody wanted to tie me up-”

“Is nippleplay common in homosexual circles?”

“How should I know!?”

Castiel looks up from where he is scrolling, and flinches his eyebrows together. “I’m sorry, Dean. Have I offended you?”

He relaxes, and sighs. “No...You don’t get out much, do you?”

“I prefer not to.” Castiel responds.

The older shakes his head. “Suit yourself, man. Just don’t tell him where you live or anything, alright? We don’t need you getting roofied and date-raped.”

Castiel nods simply in return. He’s gotten used to Dean’s odd manner of speech.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> Kitten, this is adorable, but I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to convey interest in. Well, other than an apparent love for blowjobs. Is that giving, or receiving?
> 
> Angel of Thursday
> 
> Both sound... erotic.
> 
> I think I should try most anything.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> That’s the way to go, love.
> 
> Next item on the list- and this is most important- safeword. I need you to pick a word you’ll remember, not too long or difficult to pronounce, and won’t come up conversationally.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Um...
> 
> Would “perdition” work?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Perfectly. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, I want you to say that, and we break for discussion. Understood?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Yes.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Wonderful. Now, why are you interested in the dynamic?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> ...

Castiel only leaves the apartment for classes and work. Dean does all the shopping, because Castiel does all the cleaning (he’s here, why not?). He has no one he would consider a friend (excluding Dean, who still makes attempts at sociality despite Castiel’s every effort). He gets anxious when people look at him for more than a moment. Some days his self esteem is so low he misses classes simply because he can’t bear to take the covers off his face. He’s grateful that Dean won’t say a word on days when Castiel lives in his laptop, and leaves some soup or a bag of fast-food on Cas’s bedside table for him, but it also makes him guilty because there’s no reason for someone with as much responsibility as Dean to take Castiel’s welfare upon his shoulders as well.

So maybe he wants Crowley to tell him what to do so he can stop thinking for once in his life, and just... think in anoesis.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I feel caged inside my own body.
> 
> Like I’m so much bigger than this, and I’ve been... crumpled to make me fit.
> 
> I want to be free.

On the screen, he realizes how stupidly philosophical he’s being; he should have said something about rope being kinky. He’d delete the messages, but Crowley’s already typing a response. His hands tremble. He waits.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> I can do that.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> You can?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> You know I can. I can break you; it’s what I do. Ground zero. Build from there.

Cas checks his messages just to make sure he didn’t type out his inner monologue. Crowley’s right.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> One last thing before we can get on with the show: I need to know what I’m working with.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Like what?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> What kind of experience do you have? You evidently haven’t done much D/s before, but how much do you actually know about it? Then there’s vanilla experience, to get a feel for what I'm working with.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I don’t have any of that.
> 
> I mean...
> 
> I don’t have any of that.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Castiel, am I talking to a virgin?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I don’t know who else you’re talking to, so I can’t comment on that.
> 
> But I am.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Oh, this is going to be the most fun I’ve had in a long while.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It starts simply.

Castiel is instructed to tell Crowley about every class assignment the moment it is assigned, and complete them as soon as possible. Crowley was honestly impressed over that week (Castiel is a straight-A student, after all).

The next week he adds another task: to research different aspects of BDSM and relay these findings to Crowley, who then elaborates, or corrects this information.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> This seems counterproductive.
> 
> Why not simply explain it to me?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> That would be idiocy on your part. Do you really want to blindly believe every word I say on that matter? You know I’m a sadist. I could tell you horrible things and you would go along with it; wouldn’t know any better. Besides, there’s a lot to explain, and I always seem to miss something. This is a win-win.

Castiel had a bit of trouble at first (Wolfram Alpha doesn’t host “adult content” and Google Scholar only comes back with psychological journals on sadomasochists), but he quickly learns that the best source is firsthand. So, he’s following a lot more BDSM blogs, and can tell the difference between a Dom, a Daddy, and a Dom with a daddy kink (though they both agree there should be better terminology for those).

By the third week, Cas is feeling comfortable enough to message Crowley when he sees he’s online, instead of waiting for the reverse.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Crowley.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Hello, darling.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I have a question.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Shoot.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> It seems uncommon for submissives to call their Dominants by their name.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> True.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> What should I call you?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Master, Daddy, Sir, I’ve had them all. My personal preference is “Your Majesty.”
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Yes, Your Majesty.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Kitten, I was joking. Call me whatever you like.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Most submissives also know their Dominant’s name.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Also true.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I would like to be a common submissive.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> No promises about , but I can certainly tell you my name.
> 
> Yours first.

Castiel licks his lip. He doesn’t like his real name; five other people in his high school shared it. Everyone calls him Castiel (except Dean, who calls him Cas, and the Sherlock to his John, a roleplayer from Michigan named Meg, who calls him Clarence). Meg doesn’t even know his real name, and he’s known her for years. He also knows better than to give personal information to strangers on the internet, even if it is a common name.

But, he’s submitting to Crowley. Trust is the point, isn’t it?

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Jimmy Novak
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Fergus Roderick MacLeod.

A spasm burbles in his diaphragm, and works its way up his throat and out his mouth, and only when it explodes in the outside air does he realize he’s laughing. The water of the shower stops immediately, and Dean throws the door open, bar of soap still in hand, the hand-towel hanging from his other hand and strategically held between his legs the only source of modesty. He looks concerned. Then Cas loses sight of him, eyes screwed shut and a hand clamped over his mouth, not helping to smother much of anything. “Dude... Are you okay?”

He waves dismissively from where he has collapsed and curled in on himself on the bed. He hears a sigh, the bathroom door shutting, and a great crash as Dean slips on the wet tile. Castiel would ask if he was okay, if he could form more than a single syllable at a time. There is a string of curses from his roommate as the water hisses back on. Castiel huffs again and again, until the laughter stops.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> Oh come on, it’s not that bad.
> 
> You’re laughing, aren’t you?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Goddammit.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> It’s rather...
> 
> Exotic?
> 
> Is that politically correct?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> It’s probably the most Scottish name in existence. Thankfully, I’m Scottish.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Wait.
> 
> Does that mean you have an accent?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> I moved to England fairly young, and no one could understand a word I said. If you listen very closely, you can hear years of deliberately reorganized speech patterns.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I see.

That’s hot.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> I have a question of my own.
> 
> Do you masturbate?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> ...
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Come on kitten, don’t be shy.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> ...
> 
> Far more than is probably healthy.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Good, good. That makes this even better.
> 
> From now on, you need my permission to touch yourself.

Castiel sees that message and minimizes his Google search for “names for dominant partner”. Oh no no. Crowley can’t want that. _Anything_ but that! Castiel will smite cities if he doesn’t get some minimum bi-daily stress relief!

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> WHAT
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> You don’t need clarification; it’s self-explanatory. You’re mine, and I can do as I please with you. That pretty little prick of yours belongs to me, and I don’t want you touching it.

That should not send a shot of blood to Castiel’s genitals, but it does. This is especially unfortunate, because he can’t do anything about it.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> This is absolutely unfair!
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Are you genuinely uncomfortable, or are you just being a brat?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> ...
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Safeword, darling.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I
> 
> ...
> 
> I remember it.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Then quit complaining.

Castiel sets his status to invisible and reopens Firefox. Three tabs of porn blogs (one of which being Crowley’s) and a Google search (also for Crowley) greet him. He groans. Skype is flashing, despite his warding.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> Don’t you try to run away from me.
> 
> I know you’re there; you never get off the damn computer.
> 
> Running away from your problems won’t fix anything, you know. That’s supposed to be my job, here.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> ...
> 
> You aren’t talking about my masturbation habits anymore, are you?
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Kitten, are we ever? I’ve done this for years; I know the types. Some closet fetish you want to explore with the anonymity of the Internet, fine, I do that all the time.
> 
> That’s not you. You’re interested in the dynamic.

He’s right.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> You want me to take control? Wonderful- you have to let me. You want this because you’re too scared to accept responsibility of your own life, right, but you don’t trust anyone to do it for you. Choose, kitten.

He is really starting to get sick of Crowley being right all the time. He guesses he’ll have to get used to it.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> I choose you, Principal.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Principal? Can’t say I’ve had that one before, but I’ve heard it.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> It means “person in charge of an organization, often an educational one” and you *are* training me.
> 
> As an adjective, it means “most important”.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Love it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shortened all the chapters to enable faster updates; no content will be lost, just spaced out more evenly. The original first two chapters are now the first four, making this the first uploaded in the new format. Sorry for the confusion.

Today is not a good day.

Actually, this week isn’t a good week, but today especially. Castiel closes Firefox, looks at the untouched burger on his nightstand, considers throwing it out so Dean doesn’t get all brotherly on him because his own’s at Stanford. He decides to stash it in the vegetable drawer Dean never checks... When he finds the energy to stand.

Sometimes he thinks about seeing a professional, but the anxiety at the idea reminds him he’s not in control. The anxiety is- even more so than a person who literally issues him orders.

God, Crowley. What was Castiel thinking? He knows how many missing persons there are (in the U.S., at any given moment, 90,000), and giving out your real name to a stranger (whom he _knows_ to be a middle-aged pervert) is the first step to becoming one.

On the other hand, his emotions are so overstimulated from anxiety they’re essentially burned out, and he has only a mathematical understanding that outcome is not desirable. It’s times like these, he makes the bad decisions.

Oh, speak of the devil...

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> There are times, such as at present, I wonder if I might finally burst open.
> 
> The energy within me is too much to be contained in a human vessel.
> 
> It’s... soul crushing.

 

He pauses his Youtube playlist (the sounds are too overwhelming to his electricity-buzz mind) and puts his head down. Breathing exercises don’t help (because it’s anxiety burning him up from the inside, not panic visibly spilling out), but he tries them anyway.

Skype trills for his attention.

 

> **Consulting Cumslut**
> 
> i’m dying for a serial killer au. interested?

 

He contains his disappointment, and clicks his status Invisible. Meg doesn’t want to hear his problems. Crowley doesn’t either, come to think. Castiel removes the set of messages, and takes the burger to the fridge. He didn’t even notice the fries.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> I’d very much like to know what those messages were.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Don’t mind them.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Oh, but I do, and I will continue to mind them, along with increasingly less pleasant things I can have you do until you tell me.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Anxiety.
> 
> I’ve handled it.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> In a matter of two minutes? I don’t believe that’s how that works.
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Drop it.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> No.

 

Perdition.

He types it out, just to make sure he remembers how to spell it, makes sure he’s spelling it right. It’s not right, though. It doesn’t belong there.

 

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Stream of consciousness.
> 
> I don’t recall exactly.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> That’s my good boy.

 

Castiel glances about the room (for hints of phantasmic activity or a previously unnoticed security camera, perhaps) before grinning.

 

> **Crowley**
> 
> Taking care of yourself?

 

The smile falls. He’s really not. He really doesn’t want his first punishment to be in response to something he can’t control.

But, he’s got to trust. Trust is all they’ve got.

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Not... as I should.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> Sleeping alright?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Hardly.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> You eaten?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> No.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> How’s your hygiene?
> 
> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Acceptable.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> I’d like you to eat. Whatever you’ve got, but water to drink.

 

Castiel’s nibbling a cold french fry, watching a cheeseburger rotate leisurely in the microwave when he realizes he’s out of bed. That’s a novel concept.

He’d like to thank God, Dean, and the person who made this all possible...

> **Angel of Thursday**
> 
> Thank you, Principal.
> 
> **Crowley**
> 
> You’re welcome.


	6. Chapter 6

The lights are off, blinds closed. It sneaks through the gaps and curtains, only glowing dully. Dean lets in the light, and Dean’s not up yet. Castiel’s already back from his first class, leaning on the kitchen counter with a couple hours to kill.

 

**2013-08-12 9:32 am**

You’re sure? 

It doesn’t hurt nearly as much

as you think it’s going to.

And it’s quite safe? 

Kitten, I have done this

hundreds of times, on dozens

of people, at much higher

pressures, for hours at a time.

 

What if he doesn’t have the pain tolerance? He looks over his shoulder at the microwave timer, set to five minutes and awaiting a button press more. He nudges one of the clothespins scattered on the kitchen counter, and glances down his bare chest.

Crowley’s been patient, all things considered. For a Dom, he’s done very little domination- orgasm control, sure, but even that’s not out of reach, if Castiel just begs a bit. He’s been yearning for the physical aspect, and in the end, all he had to do was ask.

Crowley made a show of that.

 

**9:34 am**  

Haven’t got all day here, love.

 

For a non-dominating Dominant, Castiel finds himself exceedingly unwilling to press his luck with Crowley. He takes a clothespin, pinches it on his arm. It doesn’t hurt. He removes it, and looks down his body again. Flicks his nipple a couple times to get it hard, and attaches the pin before he loses it again. He winces a little, but that, also, does not hurt. The other one comes easier.

He takes a breath, starts the timer, and slides his phone across the counter.

 

**9:35 am**  

Done. 

That’s my good boy. How’s it feel?

 

He considers that. Really, it’s not that bad. Not nearly as painful as he expected- he’s really got to stop second-guessing that man. He hears Dean stumble half-asleep to the bathroom.

 

**9:36 am**  

Fine.

Incredibly tolerable, actually. 

Give it a minute.

 

Cas glances to the microwave; four minutes to go. The bathroom door opens, toilet still flushing.  “Wash your hands.” he grumbles. The door shuts, a little more forcefully than necessary, but he hears the water run. Castiel bites his lip, watching the clothespins bob with the rise and fall of his breath. three minutes, forty-nine seconds left. He heaves a sigh, and the jostle of it makes him wince.

Dean comes out of the bathroom a second time, grumbling, and doesn’t spare Cas a glance before he’s in the fridge. The cold draft prickles his skin, and the clothespins still don’t hurt.

 

**9:36 am**

Still painless. 

 

Dean cracks open a can of coke, because they’re out of Folger’s, and turns. “Um...” He motions to his roommate, particularly his pectoral region, with a confused expression.

Cas meets his eyes. “It’s a kinky thing.”

“Gotcha.” he replies, takes a gulp, and sets the can on the counter. He opens the freezer for as little time as he can possibly retrieve a microwaveable breakfast sandwich, and Castiel, shirtless as he is, is thankless.

 

**9:37 am**

Taking them off is the hard part.

You just... take them off.

Right? 

Where’s the fun in that?

 

The microwave beeps, startling Castiel, and jostling the clothespins in the process. He groans, and Dean takes a bite of his still-steaming breakfast sandwich, immediately washing it down with the coke because it’s burned his mouth.

“I was using the timer!” Cas complains.

“You got one on your phone.” Dean argues, taking another bite, because he’s stubborn.

Castiel checks the timestamps on his messages, and the oven clock. He’ll give it two more minutes.

 

**9:38 am**

What’s the alternative? 

Yank them off.

Just like that? 

Like a bandaid.

But

 

He looks down, pitifully.

 

**9:38 am**

My nipples. 

They’ll be fine.

 

Castiel pouts at the clothespins dangling from his chest, and tugs on one experimentally. That, hurts.

 

**9:39 am**

How? 

Close your eyes, hope for the best.

That’s not comforting. 

Submission isn’t supposed to be

easy.

 

He supposes not. His nipples are starting to tingle. Castiel swallows, watching the clock for that last digit to roll. The second it does, he grabs each pin by the hinge to keep from pressing down on them, but it takes a few tries to rip them off, like trying to swallow a pill.

When he does, he throws them immediately across the room, shouting his grievance.

“Should I ask?” Dean calls from the living room.

He stands with arms crossed protectively over his chest, lips screwed shut. “Dean.”

He grumbles, but comes. “What’s up?”

Cautiously, Castiel uncrosses his arms. “Do I still have my nipples?”

His roommate stares for a moment, worrying Cas that he’s figuring out how to break the news. “Yep.”

“Oh thank God.” he sighs, picking up his phone.

Dean mutters something about “known this” and “wouldn’t have signed the lease” as he takes another bite of his sandwich. He breathes through his mouth to cool it down, rushing into the living room for his soda.

 

**9:40 am**  

It’s done. 

Good boy.

 

Somehow, those two simple words make it all worth it.

Until he steps on the lost clothespin. That’s almost as bad as a Lego.

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided to discontinue this work.
> 
> The interest has dwindled to a halt, much like my interest in the series. Anyone is welcome to write follow-ups for this 'verse, and will be approved as inspired works. Youdontknowtorture, which I similarly maintained, has also expired, but will remain available as an archive.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
